


Romeo and Statistics

by giwp



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, POV Jean Kirstein, Romeo and Juliet References, Teacher AU, it's Marco's birthday and I'm not late
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 19:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4150395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giwp/pseuds/giwp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is the math teacher that lives his career on the edge to make sure he comes out on top and Marco the wall that comes barreling straight into him and knocking him right off his feet. Literally </p><p>Prompt: Romeo and Juliet of the math and English department in school AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Romeo and Statistics

**Author's Note:**

> It's Marco's birthday and I almost didn't make it but here's a fic from Jean's POV about how pretty my baby boy is. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The feud between the two heads was a tale set long before their time. It was a battle of superiority and revenge between two different subjects that was only edged to further depths of intensity as the years passed by and the people became invested in the fight. Many leaders suffered through the triumphs and fails and the challenged grew as outstanding affects reigned largely over them until defeat was the only way to let the problems go.

But the two still fought. They fought hard to come out on top.

After all, higher average test scores meant more money in their department’s budget.

And a higher spending budget meant a lot for a small, homely school like Trost high school. Jean knew as much as he continued passing out double-sided handouts printed on probably the thinnest sheets of off-white paper he could find in the clearance section of Office Depot. The place was horrible when it came to supplying teachers with enough stock for the entire year and Jean usually found himself travelling circles through stores in search for something that could fit in his meager teacher’s salary.

The class was on the verge of a breakthrough with figuring out how the hell confidence intervals were set up and the small donation to the “Slowly Less Ignorant” foundation was a small price to pay if his AP Statistics was able to get a bit more studying and practice in before exams.

Handing out the last copy of the study guide to the thankfully only student left, Jean makes his way back towards the front of the classroom, the heels of his work shoes clicking on the cheap linoleum as he addressed the class.

“Alright rugrats. Now I know you know what the piece of paper in front of you is. You can get into groups if you’d like but it would be better for you if you at least ran through the questions on your own and asked for help after you’ve done so. If you have any dire questions such as you’ve forgotten how to categorize your numbers or don’t know what a word means, you have a book for that.” A light chuckle from a couple of his students echoes around the room and Jean can practically feel the nerves bouncing around the small space as he takes in the nervous glances at the paper in front of a couple of his kids. “But definitely come to me if you really don’t understand anything, yeah?”

Many of the students that are actually paying some semblance of attention to him nod their heads. The others direct their gazes at anything more interesting and Jean claps his hand loud enough to get their ears ringing and their eyes back on him. “Get started. I’ll be sitting up here.”

The sounds of pencils scratching and open textbook pages fluttering fills Jean’s ears between the white noise of lazy mumblings from the students as he turns towards his small desk to finally sit down. Everyone seems to be on pace and actually working and Jean has to thank whatever they’ll be handing out at lunch in an hour because holy crap did it manage to reign in his kids. The promise of delicious mystery meat must do it for these children.

In all the years that Jean’s been working at the school, he’s never had the pleasure of suffering through the lunch line alongside a couple hundred of his former and present students. Whatever god he needs to thank will be getting his entire next paycheck because the rank stench he can sniff out from the hallways leading to the cafeteria was definitely worth it.

Being one of the three lone math teachers in the entire school meant knowing and trying desperately to put a name to a face and failing so hard it left skid marks on the basketball courts outside was pretty intense. Jean had transferred over to Trost a couple years back; a time when there were layoffs and budget cuts and a whole bunch of whiny adults asking for some kind of job in a field they knew nothing about. Jean thankfully had the degree in Applied Mathematics and seeing nothing fit, had applied to every single teaching position the state could offer and was moved around accordingly.

He was almost nearing 30 and Jean could say that he’d worked in over a dozen schools across the state and then some (that some being a part-time gig back in Washington where he was practically pushed away by the sheer temperature).

Jean like teaching. He liked the thrill of being the one to wake up and hassle a bunch of pissy teenagers into doing something productive with their lives. He liked watching many of them scratch craters into their heads as they stared at their exams and chewed their pencil erasers into tiny nubs. Hell, he may even like the grading part and trying to figure how the hell they used the wrong equation and still managed to get the correct answer.

It was all a fun game that paid enough to keep his apartment heated in the winters and cool in the summers. And it also came with a territory he’d never encountered in previous places of employment.

Apparently working in a school that struggled to find the funds to get more paper and pencils meant adopting the feud that made minimum sense but thrilled him to no end. Jean’s been working at Trost for over three years – the longest he’s worked in any school – and acclimating to the battle between the math department and the second highest user of paper was easy and intense.

The English department was the enemy and the fact that there’d been a minor hitch on the other side’s battle plans meant a better chance for Jean to team up with the other two in his department to gang up on the newbie.

The English department was allowed four teachers, each one instructing their own grade, and currently there was an empty hole where the senior teacher should be. The guy that had been in that place had decided the middle of the semester was a decent enough time to retire and leave his students floundering about for a day before spring break had made its appearance. But now that the break was over and exams were on the horizon, everyone was on the mission to get the grades and the English department was haggling behind to Jean’s delight.

But it’s Monday now, late March, and the inevitable was sure to happen. The new replacement for the AP English and English 12 class was probably somewhere across the halls being pummeled to death by the ruthless class of 2015. The poor fuck. They probably came in during the weekend to set up their personal shit and charts of the parts of a sentence and essay.

Jean is jolted out of his thoughts by a student with a study guide in hand and a pencil in the other. “What can I do you for, Thomas?”

And so begins the tedious part of teaching. Reiterating concepts addressed long ago for the sake of making sure the students had the idea ingrained into their brains. It meant a lot of repeating what he said but it was going to be worth it when the test scores for the Advanced Placement exams and SATs came around and landed on the district head’s desk.

***

Lunch was upon them. The bustling of students practically sprinting towards the cafeteria was just pure amazing. Jean could pinpoint the freshmen that actually did rush their way through the crowds to get to the front of the line and then the seniors that lounged around the lockers and clustered in groups that travelled in large, obtrusive packs. And then there was the thing he couldn’t figure which was “why the hell were they so excited for lunch?”

The chance for a break between classes was great and all but the rush to get to the food that was offered by the old lunch ladies in cheap hairnets was definitely not worth it and Jean would probably never figure out the appeal.

It was why he took the effort every night before the school day to make extra food or prepare something for him to have the next day for lunch. And it was where he was headed to write now. The eat the monster pile of spaghetti he’d packed into his lunch bag from the night before because even people with degrees in mathematics can’t figure out how to portion out a bag of noodles with the large bottle of pasta sauce and serving of turkey meat he had in the back of his fridge and freezer respectively.

Sliding between the small bodies of the underclassmen and pods of seniors left behind by the rush of students, Jean finds his way to the hall that leads into the staff room. He usually ate his lunch in the comfort of his own classroom but the idea of eating cold meat noodles wasn’t worth it and he tried to make his trek to the microwave a quick one.

Wiggling the doorknob to get it to unstick take just a second and Jean soon finds himself surrounded by his colleagues in various array through the room.

Most of the staff tended to congregate within their departments, the competition high around this time meant little to no socialization as they worked on collaborating their study guides and exam sheets while simultaneously getting some grading done before evening set on. But a couple of them could always be found intermingling with each other and that’s where Jean could feel the fire burning inside of him.

The other teachers in the Math department included a springy Connie Springer and the always annoying Eren Jaeger but the real bit that touched sparks into Jean’s nerves and the whole appeal of competition was the friendship they seemed to have with certain members of the English department. Apparently Connie went to college with Sasha Braus from the science department who happened to be best friends with the freshmen English teacher, Krista Lenz. And to top off the love fest of the century, Eren just happened to pick up the job after a recommendation sent in my Mikasa Ackerman and Armin Arlert – the sophomore and junior English teachers respectively. The betrayal cut deep into Jean’s resolve and the fact that they all managed to begin work after Jean and ruin the atmosphere of hate and bitterness irked him to no end.

But he still sat with the ragtag band of misfits. Nothing could really keep Jean away from using his free time to bother the shit out of Eren.

Sliding his glass container into the microwave and stabbing the ‘2mins’ button, Jean goes about washing his fork and grabbing a couple of paper towels. Cleanliness around food was imperative; especially when it came to working in schools. Everyone did it. Don’t judge.

After grabbing his extremely hot pile of noodles and lavishing himself by inhaling the smell of pasta sauce, Jean makes his way and plops down into his usual seat allotted to him whenever he shows up. He digs right into his food and straight into the conversation already happening around him.

“So have any of you actually seen the new guy? Like is he at least around our age or does he look as old as Reiner pretends he’s not?” Eren always manages to start a new topic with a mouth full of food and Jean point it out to him around the fork in his own mouth which earns both of them a slap on the wrist by Krista.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, honestly. And yeah we have. Kinda have to since he’s in our department.” She snickers at Eren’s pout and Jean shakes his head.

“Well,” he starts without really knowing what he wants to say. “The guy’s our enemy until we deem him worthy enough to sit with us.”

Armin’s the one to speak up next. The usually quiet boy sitting pretty close to Eren letting his teaching voice rollout just when he deems it necessary. “Oh and you deemed us worthy of these plastic chairs.”

Jean scoffs and takes a sip out of his water bottle. “Obviously.” He casts a glance at everyone watching him and lets out a defeated sigh. “And well- I couldn’t exactly stop you guys from being actual friends like in real life outside of school. So it was just a compromise I had to make.”

Armin lets out a small laugh and Jean smiles into the mouth of his bottle. At least he’s not totally hopeless.

The sound of the door rattling catches the attention of their group and they watch it stutter for a couple seconds before stopping and resuming the loud rattling. The entire staff by now had figured out the magic of opening the idiotic door and even a couple of the students that acted as teaching assistants for credit knew how to work the thing, so the curiosity of who could be trying to break in filled the room as everyone sat and stared at the doorknob rattling.

The thing kept going for a minute before Jean figured it was better to just cave and help whoever it was on the other side of the door out and let them in rather than let them suffer through the consequences of breaking the damn thing.

Letting his chair screech against the same ugly linoleum that lined practically every room in that school, Jean could only hear the sound of his shoes hitting the ground and the small mutterings of people further in the room alongside the continuous rattling. The poor fuck couldn’t even open doors.

Grabbing onto the knob and sidling his weight into the wood panels of the door, Jean lifts and pulls and lets the door fall open in front of him.

Unfortunately for him, it also means letting whoever was on the other side of the door stumble straight into an unsuspecting math teacher and knocking both of them onto the ground – Jean taking most of the force of it all with his back.

He’s winded as all the air rushes out of him at the same time a crushing weight plants itself into the center of his chest. The only thing that he can make out over the buzzing in his ears is the sound of Eren, probably, cackling alongside Connie’s wheezing.

The weight over him doesn’t seem to want to move and Jean finally opens his eyes despite the pain he can feel growing in the back of his head and lower back. He’s going to be sore for the next week and longer if this hefty heap of meat won’t get the hell off of him.

Jean’s eyes flutter open and he’s come face-to-face with another man – someone Jean’s never seen around the small campus and he panics that he just let in some random stranger if it weren’t for the inclusion of the rest of the gang coughing up a lung with how hard they’re laughing.

He blinks a number of times, his eyes trying to straighten out what’s in front of him and focus on the guy who just doesn’t want to fucking move apparently.

His eyes clear and he comes to find himself in front of – a lot of freckles holy crap. Is this guy some kind of character from a nursery rhyme about the dangers of staying in the sun too long? His dark skin couldn’t possibly create that many tiny chocolate brown dots across such a small amount of space.

Jean wiggles underneath him and realizes his arms are definitely trapped beneath the guy pinning him to the floor and he huffs a breath straight into the guy’s face – tomato sauce, garlic and everything. The guy crinkles his nose and Jean sputters for a second to find his words.

“Um. Are you going to get the fuck off of me or what?”

The guy – Freckles – looks down at him and Jean swears to Satan he legitimately tilts his head like he’s in an anime before smiling awkwardly. “Oh. Right, sorry.”

Jean’s eyes widen as he feels the guy raise himself off of his body.

This guy’s voice. It’s like Jesus decided to mix in everything good in the world and swirl it into a pair of vocal chords and place it into this guy’s body. Jean lays there for a second longer, letting his thoughts fizzle in his head before pushing himself up to sit on his ass on the cold floor. His back protests as he does it and he lets out a hiss as he rubs the back of his head to relieve some of the pressure building. It doesn’t do much but it lets him take a second or longer to check out the guy now sitting across from him.

The door had managed to shut behind their fall and with a clear white background behind the guy, Jean was able to make out the simple details without using too much of his sore head.

The guy was gorgeous.

His shoulders were wide and looked strong and the way they came down to taper into his waistline made Jean dizzy in more ways than just the fall’s fault. He feels his face turning red as his gaze lingers low on the man’s body but Jean hopes everyone will take it as head injury and excuse him for it. But just in case, he moves his eyes back up and watches the guy fumble through words Jean can barely decipher.

His hair looks so soft and that haircut is dumb but he really wants to run his fingers through it. And the way that they cut off right by his ears makes them so much more enticing than ears should really be allowed to do.

God. Even his nose is cute and small and it’s like you should be able to push it and receive a gift bag full of sweets and happiness in return for your trouble

His eyes were so brown. A deep chocolate brown like his freckles and his eyebrows were definitely furrowed and he’s definitely getting closer what the hell is happening?

Jean shakes his head out and although the rattling inside jars him and makes him flinch for a good ten seconds, he looks back up to find that same worried expression across Freckle’s face.

“Are you okay?” come a reaching voice and although it’s still kind of fuzzy in his ears, Jean can get himself to figure out how to nod his head without saying a word.

The guy bites his lower lip and Jean’s eyes immediately follow the way his teeth digs in and moves the bit of flesh around like a puppet on strings. All nerves and no endings.

Krista’s voice rings somewhere behind Jean’s shoulder and he wants to turn and listen but he can’t seem to get himself to drag his eyes away from the guy in front of him. “Hey Marco. Looks like you’ve found the staff room just fine.”

A laugh goes around the table and Jean doesn’t know what to do except smile at the way Marco’s face twists into a pained smile. He’s still watching Jean make a fool of himself on the sticky floor of the staff room and he should probably get off of it except the feeling of his legs have somehow made an escape and they feel like complete bowls of Jell-O.

Jean watches Marco stand up on _really_ long legs and he feels his soul leave his body as a tanned hand reaches down in front of his face. He accepts the offer and with a little bit of effort Jean finds himself back on his feet.

Marco retracts his hand and Jean feels a bit lost for a second until Marco’s voice catches his attention. He should probably get checked for a concussion. “I’m really sorry for just falling over you like that. It’s just the door wasn’t-”

Eren cuts him off with a grunt and Jean’s never felt more murderous to hear that obnoxious voice. “Yeah that shit’s been crap for years apparently. Don’t worry, we all made asses of ourselves the first day, Bodt. But none of us managed to drag the king himself into a piling heap so hey Jean,” Jean turns to face Eren, scowl still on his face which gets ignored by the smaller guy. “I think that tumble is definitely table worthy, don’t you?”

There’s a glint to his green eyes. Like it’s a test of will power and Eren’s intent on making Jean break but all he can think about is how the only seat left open would be the one that had been next to his pile of pasta. The thought buzzed in his chest like the butterflies weren’t just intent on flying around but also in getting a nutritious meal out of Jean’s guts

He nods and turns back to Marco ready to finally open his mouth but instead got a rush of air slapped out of him from a heavy hand to his already sore back. He moans in pain as he shoots a glare back at Connie who’s cheesing away like Jean hadn’t just gotten wrecked by the floor a minute ago.

“Well welcome to team happy, Mr. Marco Bodt. You’re just what we needed to rain of Jean’s bitter parade and oh boy did you make an entrance on that.”

Marco. Okay so Freckles has a name. Marco Bodt.

Marco quietly speaks up as Connie helps Jean back to their mash of tables. “Um. Who’s Jean and what exactly is a “bitter parade”?”

Armin is the one to answer as the rest of the table goes back to mumbling through work or whatever. Jean sits quietly, his fork in hand and the strong awareness that Marco is sitting really close next to him and that he should probably keep his eyes on the congealing meat and sauce mixed into his spaghetti.

“Jean’s the guy you ran into. And also someone we should definitely take to the nurse’s office just in case.” Armin turns to Jean and addresses him quietly, somehow sensing that the headache has gone from a dull ache to a throbbing rave in a matter of seconds of being back next to Eren. “Hey you feeling okay?”

Jean tries to nod his head but the light in the room is making him a bit woozy and the next second he finds himself doubled over the trash bin next to the door and heaving the little food he’d had into its depths.

Someone’s yelling “oh shit”s and “oh no”s are mumbled in rhythm out of someone’s mouth but Jean can mostly just feel the pressure of a sturdy hand rubbing circles into his back as he dry heaves a couple times. Nothing comes out after a good while and he makes to straighten up and feels the arms circling around his waist.

Eren and Marco have managed to flank him on either side of him.

He wipes the spit dribbling down his chin with the back of a hand as he stares into the speckles of the fake plastic tiles of the floor. Trying to get his head around staying steady and to stop the feeling of tilting on a nonexistent axis is harder than he would’ve assumed.

Eren’s face has somehow leaned up into his ears and Jean would jerk away from the closeness but instead leans in the other direction and into Marco’s chest. “Jean we should get you to a doctor.”

“M’fine. Don’t worry.”

“Shut up idiot,” Eren says and Jean can just imagine the scowl on his face. “You don’t have afternoon classes, right? You only stay after to grade papers. So I say we take you to the hospital and get your head checked out before you pass out and never wake up again you asshole.”

Jean stands there for a second, his body wavering even as he presses against Marco. Finally he decides it wouldn’t hurt to maybe get a scan or something to figure out why he just had to throw up the little food he ate. What a waste of money.

He mumbles an acceptance of defeat and hears Eren sigh as the others mutter agreements that it’ll be best to get himself looked after.

Marco’s voice is next to him and Jean hums at the vibrations he feels coming from his chest. “I’m actually done as well since Krista said she was going to take over for just the last day of the unit the 7th period class was on so I can take him.”

Jean hums a little louder, agreeing with the offer. Eren snickers next to him and Jean lifts an arm to swat at his colleague who dodges it like he should’ve been made a PE teacher instead of sitting and teaching Algebra to a bunch of freshman and delinquent upperclassmen.

Jean hears Mikasa finally speak a word louder than a whisper. “Are you sure you can handle him, Marco? Jean is actually a lot to handle and you haven’t actually properly met,” she finishes off, her voice traveling back down to her normal volume.

Armin voices an opinion and Jean thanks the lord the boy exists and decided to work in this godforsaken school. “It should be fine, I think. Great way to become better friends yeah?”

Eren laughs and the noise grates on Jean’s ears. His chortling laugh loud standing right next to him, “Yeah because making friends in the waiting room is the best thing ever.”

Marco chuckles and Jean lets his head rest against the rumbling chest, his whole body shifting into his grip and away from Eren. He pauses and clutches Jean’s shirt to keep him from falling over again and Jean lets it happen and inhales deeply.

He smells like vanilla and lavender fabric softener.

Everyone is talking around him and he zones out for a second until he feels the arms around him tighten again and Marco speaks towards his face. “We should get going, Jean.”

Even the way he says his name is like a piece of heaven cake. Wow.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

Lunch is still going on and the few students that loiter around the lockers and halls giver zero fucks about the new guy and the resident bitter soul limping their way towards the parking lot. The few glances they get are worried looks and Jean scoffs at the idea that these kids actually care about his well-being except he probably does look like he’d gotten ran over by a semi-truck (which he basically did) but it’s still none of their business.

Armin had apparently said he’d go in and talk to Principal Erwin about the situation according to Marco’s nervous mumblings and Jean hopes the poor blond doesn’t get himself stuck in a crossfire with the Vice Principal. Levi was great but he was also a real prick when in one of his moods.

Marco’s hands twitch as Jean’s waist and he isn’t able to revel in the feeling for long before he finds himself in the fabric seats of an old Toyota, the dash littered with little trinkets and stickers that shouldn’t belong to a man that looks to be in their late-20s.

Marco helps belt him in and as he walks around to the other side to get into the driver’s seat, Jean gets a minute to look at the little details. There’s an old McDonald’s Happy Meal toy from its Smurf days thrown into the center above the radio controls. The stickers, after a little closer look, are a range of pink things from generic ballerinas to Barbie in different types of work clothes. And then there was a grand prize of them all. A small little Hawaiian bobble head was perched in the corner Jean was sat in, its body waving under the motions of the car settling under Jean and now Marco’s weight.

Marco must notice the look on Jean’s face as he blushes an interesting shade of red before dragging his car keys out of his pocket. “Ah. My little sister.”

Jean takes that as enough of an explanation and relaxes back into the seat as Marco starts pulling into the street towards the hospital. Thankfully the closest emergency room isn’t too far and Jean won’t get the repercussions of car sicknesses onto Marco’s meager upholstery. He lets the rumble of the old car and Marco’s distinct humming to the radio turned down to 10 soothe his stomach as they make the trip to hell. Shifting a bit, Jean gets himself to turn his face towards Marco. His cheek his squished into the cool fabric and the air conditioning does wonders to the right side of his face as he watches Marco drive.

The guy has the attention of a hawk when it comes to his driving and his eyes never stray even as Jean stares straight into him without relenting.

It’s a bit endearing and Jean can feel his stomach clenching in betrayal at the thought.

This guy is supposed to be his enemy. His direct enemy in fact since his position keeps him in charge of the same grade Jean is put into. They’re both teachers the seniors are directed to which means the funds each senior class receives gets divvied between the two of them and the thought of it aches Jean’s back even more.

He’s fucked.

\---

They make it to the hospital without any more spills from Jean’s mouth. In fact, he hasn’t said a single word since he’d agreed to make the trip in Marco’s care. His anxiety bites into him as he thinks about the needles and prodding that he’s about to be put through. All this because he decided to be nice and help the poor soul who couldn’t open a door.

The same poor soul whose arms are wound around Jean’s waist again and helping him hobble into the sliding glass doors into the emergency room.

They slowly slide their way across better looking tiles towards the desk and Jean is grateful that there isn’t a crowd lined up in the waiting area because his back is slowly about to be the death of him. Marco does most of the talking and Jean tries to keep his head from lobbing right off his shoulders up until he hears Marco talking more towards him.

“Jean I need your ID? You have your wallet, right?”

Jean nods his head but it makes the feeling of nausea climb further up his throat. He clears the cloggy feeling and his voice is strained from keeping down the bile but he says what he needs to quietly. “Back pocket,” he whispers.

Marco’s close enough to hear him and Jean’s close enough to feel the heat radiating from the guy’s body as he realizes what he’s just said. But the situation calls for it and soon Jean feels a hand digging into the back pocket of his pants to catch hold of his small leather wallet.

Marco doesn’t let go but keeps his arms tight around Jean as he hands over the cards the nurse is asking for.

It doesn’t take long and Jean soon feels his restless body being dragged towards a couple of plastic seats outside the swinging doors to the hospital section of the emergency room.

Marco gracefully sits Jean into a seat and takes the one next to him, making sure Jean’s wallet is fit snugly back into the back of his pants. Jean’s head immediately tilts to the side and thumps against the soft pad of Marco’s shoulder. Marco lets it go and leaves Jean alone as the latter curls into himself on the small seat.

The feeling of vomit curdling in his stomach ebbs away as they wait for Jean to be called into the back. Marco slides a smartphone out of his pocket and busies himself with one of those mind games as Jean watches on. It takes about ten minutes of waiting before Marco clears his throat and cuts into the silence.

“So what’s your favorite color?”

“Huh?” _What kind of question even is that?_ is what Jean wants to ask but the itch to stay minimally quiet wins out.

“Well you don’t seem in the mood to talk but keeping you mentally moving would help with whatever’s going on in the head of yours. So?”

Jean takes a moments to think; his head feeling like he’s working overtime on a problem meant to be found in graduate school. “Hmm. Brown.”

“Your favorite color is brown?” Marco chuckles at the answer and Jean twists himself to dig the tip of his nose into the sleeve of Marco’s shirt.

Can the smell of lavender be a color?

“Yeah. You got a problem?”

“I don’t.” He pauses for a second – probably thinking of another question to ask a tired Jean. “Why brown, though?”

Jean thinks. And he actually can’t give a definitive answer to why his mind decided brown was a decent color to bring up in the vast array of a rainbow. Why did he deem brown his favorite color?

He looks up for a second and the angle is weird but he comes to see wide eyes looking down at him curiously.

“I don’t know,” he says quickly, turning his face back down to hide what he knows is a growing blush. “Next question?”

“Okay fair enough. Your license then. How old were you when that photo was taken because you looked like you were still 16.”

“That’s a really offensive question.” Jean pauses for a second and then continues in a quieter voice. “I was 25 actually. Next question.”

Marco laughs and Jean glances over to the desk where he spies the nurse giving them weird looks.

Fuck. Even she knows this is really weird.

“Alright. How long have you been working at Trost? The guys said you’ve been here to hold some kind of bitter parade for a while.” He trails off. Probably thinks Jean will be bitter about bringing up his “bitter parade”

He snorts in response. “Three years. Practically everyone is new though so they like to think I’m old news. The bitter parade is a tradition between the English and Math department that got fucked over by the newbs.”

“Tradition?” Marco asks.

Jean swallows a lump of saliva before smiling and moving his head to lay a cheek on Marco’s shoulder. “A battle of funding. The highest test scores usually get the most supplies the next year so it’s become a competition. At least it had until Jaeger came in and became friendly with the enemy.”

“Hm.” Marco hums to himself in thought. Jean takes it as a sign to continue his rambling. “Yeah and it was meant to continue and the whole school including the students get in on it. The Math enthusiasts from the like Mathletes, especially, get super invested in the action during finals week.”

“So,” Marco starts. “That would mean we should enemies, huh? Especially since we’re the AP teachers for the seniors?”

Jean nods, his smile disappearing from his lips.

He feels cozy, nice and warm, sitting next to Marco and talking. It feels like it’s meant to happen on this random Monday in an emergency room before school has even let out.

“Yeah. I guess so.”

Marco cocks his head to the head, letting it rest against the top of Jean’s. He flinches for a second but the pressure over him isn’t bad this time and it helps Jean steady his breathing as he hears the thrum of Marco’s pulse over and under him.

“Well,” Marco says, interrupting Jean’s thoughts. “I think that’s really dumb, don’t you?”

Everything in Jean is telling him not to fall for anything; he needs to stay strong and win out Marco and the rest of the English department. But then there’s a side of him thinking: that doesn’t mean he can’t be friends with the guy.

Frienemies was a stupid word and he’d never use it to describe any of this but he could really get used to having Marco around. Have him close to Jean without worrying about how it could affect the long-standing rivalry between departments.

This could be the compromise that might actually work. Keeping your friends close and your enemies closer was an archaic concept and the sitting in the middle of a buzzing world where the devices in their hands buzzed with worried text messages called for a change of pace.

There would always be the battle to win against the enemy but the enemy didn’t always have to be the big mighty dragon that needed to be defeated. This didn’t need to be a war pitted between Capulets and Montagues. There didn’t need to be an ultimate finally where nobody wins and the feud is finished only after the deaths of the idiotic and naïve.

Jean could have both sides of the pie and still come out on top if he wanted to.

The probability of things working out was higher than anything Jean cared about at that point. 

Jean pushes his head up towards the crook of Marco’s neck and sighs.

“It is pretty dumb.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was going for that whole Romeo and Juliet idea but then I deviated so hard because motherly Marco for a sick Jean is my shit. I hope you liked it. Please leave comments or message me on tumblr. 
> 
> Thanks!!
> 
> [mamaarachne](http://mamaarachne.tumblr.com/)


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